#writing this took me out actually
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Stede draws the curtains shut, enclosing them in the dark, intimate space of the bed nook, anticipation running recklessly through his veins. He turns to Ed, looking up at him expectantly on the bed, the cascade of his hair loose around his shoulders and his eyes huge and vulnerable, bathed in the golden light of the fireworks the crew is setting off on deck. He could get lost in those eyes forever, swim into their depths and never come back up for air again.
-
Picks up right after Stede closes the bed curtains. Tender, horny sex ensues.
He draws the curtains shut, enclosing them in the dark, intimate space of the bed nook, anticipation running recklessly through his veins. He turns to Ed, looking up at him expectantly on the bed, the cascade of his hair loose around his shoulders and his eyes huge and vulnerable, bathed in the golden light of the fireworks the crew is setting off on deck. He could get lost in those eyes forever, swim into their depths and never come back up for air again.
Stede has laid awake on this same bed on countless sleepless nights, dreaming of this exact moment. Vague shapeless dreams at first, just him and Ed together in some undefined capacity. Far more real fantasies lately, since he cut off the ties that bound him to land and gentry and shed the man whose role he was suffocating having to perform.
He feels electrified, everything that happened tonight pressing against the inside of his skull with the force of a ram. The desperation of watching Ed get tortured, the satisfaction of being able to protect his crew and the man he loves, taking the irrevocable step to push Low off the plank after hearing him claim that Ed only views him as a pet and call Ed low born scum. He feels his blood boil again at the memory.
He doesn't regret doing it, is the thing. All his life the one thing he's craved is a place to belong, somewhere he's welcome, and now that he's found it, now that he has a family he can actually protect, people who depend on him, he will be fierce in ensuring the destruction of anyone that harms them.
But it's still making him feel dizzy, still brings the taste of vile to his mouth and the paralyzing memory to his mind of being called lily livered while his face was covered in blood, and feeling the word soft slice sharp like a knife against his skin.
He needs to kiss Ed, needs to press their lips back together until he can't breathe, until his head is spinning for entirely more pleasant reasons.
So he follows the instinct, plants a knee on the bed next to Ed's thigh and buries a hand in his hair, tilts his head up to kiss him and holds him tight with the other one around the back of his neck. Ed kisses back unrestrained, like maybe he wants this just as much as Stede does - and what a wonderful surprise that has been tonight. He wants to bottle up the lightening coursing through his veins and keep it around forever, to pour on his lips when he's feeling insecure about his place in the world and in this man's heart.
He breaks away from Ed's lips to trail wet, slow kisses along his neck, his shoulder, slides down the collar of his shirt out of the way until he can't reach any more skin and he has to separate from him to remove it altogether. Ed's arms go easily where Stede guides them, drape languidly around his neck to pull him close once they're free. Stede feels his heart climb into his throat, the way he did earlier when Ed nodded and drew him close into his body.
He pushes them down onto the bed, and Ed leans back without loosening his arms from around his neck, keeps kissing him the entire time. The feeling of Ed's tongue in his mouth is like a live ember burning inside him; he never wants to stop drinking him in, pulling his breath into his own lungs. He moans when he presses down more heavily onto Ed and feels the hardness in his pants firm against his thigh. This is the moment he's been alive for his whole life, why he kept waking up every morning of the miserable decades he spent stuck in a life he never wanted and not knowing Ed.
He rolls his hips against him out of instinct, and the friction of Ed's leather clad body against his cock has sparks licking like flames over his skin. He feels invincible right now, like he could take on a whole army of Ned Lows and defeat them single-handedly.
Ed is rocking against him, too, seeking the same release Stede craves. His open need makes Stede feel bold, like he could do anything, so he drags his lips down Ed's chest to his stomach, sucks open mouthed kisses against silken skin, traces the dark ink that decorates Ed's body with his tongue. He accidentally brushes against the burn mark on Ed's chest and Ed whimpers.
"Shit, sorry," he hurries to apologize.
"Not a bad feeling, mate," Ed says, a little breathless. Stede's eyes open wide, but he remembers Ed asking to be stabbed a million weeks ago, when he was still a different man that couldn't understand what was being asked of him and thought they were just playing pirates, and the way he moaned with Stede's sword stuck in his side. He brushes his lips tenderly around the wound, licks softly over it, and Ed writhes underneath him.
Stede prides himself on a rich imagination, but in his wildest fantasies he could never have pictured Ed like this, limbs loose and relaxed, lips red and kiss bitten, breath ragged, looking at him from underneath his eyelashes like there is nowhere else he'd rather be in the world.
Satisfied that he's given him what he wanted, he resumes his exploration of Ed's skin, slides his tongue down his sternum, flicks it over a nipple and is rewarded with a gasp and Ed's hand tangling in his hair, pushing him down with the barest amount of pressure. He gets the message and does it again, and then he sucks it into his mouth, and Ed's hand tightens further around his fistful of Stede's hair. The sting in his scalp feels so fucking good that he drags the nipple between his teeth to get Ed to do it again.
"Stede," Ed moans, not like he's asking for anything, more like he just wants to hold Stede's name on his lips for a while. Stede feels like he might do something embarrassing like cry at the sound, so he distracts himself by giving the same treatment to Ed's other nipple, and Ed keeps squirming against the bed, rolling his hips up fiercely to meet Stede's.
He feels like this is more than he ever wanted and nowhere near enough, like he's feasting and starving at once. He goes back to mapping Ed's tattoos with his lips, follows the lovely trail of silvery black hair down his stomach to the waistline of his pants, keeps going as far as he can.
"Can I take these off?" he asks, when he can't push the unyielding leather any further.
"Yeah," Ed concedes, like a gift.
His fingers tremble slightly as he undoes the buttons. It takes him longer than it should to get them open, but it's not like they have anywhere else to be. The crew are still partying above deck, he can hear singing and what he assumes is more dancing now that the roar of the fireworks has ceased. He feels sorry he didn't get to dance with Ed before they were interrupted, but he supposes this could count as dancing, too. A dance just for the two of them, with steps they decide and to whatever rhythm they choose.
Finally, he manages to get Ed's buttons open, and he hesitates for a second before he reminds himself that Ed offered, he nodded and kissed Stede back, pulled him into his body like he meant to keep him.
He hooks his hands on the waistband and pulls, and then Ed's cock is free before him, long and dark and already full, all for him.
"Can I taste you?" he chases another impulse. He's never done this before, knows the act exists from literature and living on a pirate ship with a crew that enjoys having sex in every random corner they can find. But the need to have Ed in his mouth is overwhelming, short circuits his brain and keeps him suspended in midair until Ed replies.
"You can do whatever you want, Stede."
Oh, how he loves him. The whole firmament has lodged itself inside Stede's chest, burning bright and incandescent.
He removes Ed's trousers all the way, discards them with a heavy thud of leather and metal on the floor, and kneels between his legs on the bed. He keeps eye contact with Ed the whole time as he sinks down and kisses his soft thighs, first one, then the other, sucks red and purple blooms into his skin. Ed groans and thrashes his head against the pillow.
His legs are also dotted with tattoos, and Stede makes plans to spend an entire day memorizing every drawing on Ed's skin sometime, in bright sunlight so he can admire them properly. He runs a hand from Ed's ankle to his thigh, loving the drag of coarse hair against the pads of his fingers. Ed watches him a little transfixed, like maybe he's worried that Stede will disappear if he looks away. Stede needs to reassure him that he's not going anywhere, that this is where he wants to be for the rest of his life.
He presses his nose into Ed's pubic hair, inhales him deeply and feels his head swim with the reality of what they're doing, of the man in the bed beneath him, the cock pressing against his cheek. Ed is so very solid here next to him - they're having sex for the first time, his first time with a man, with someone he truly desires and who desires him back. His chest expands and floods with starlight.
He rubs his cheek against the soft skin of Ed's thigh, savoring the moment, fists the fingers of his right hand around Ed's shaft and strokes it delicately, still a little awed that he gets to do this. He guides Ed's cock towards his mouth and finally, finally, wraps his lips around it. Ed bucks against the mattress and Stede chokes a little, more out of surprise than anything else.
"Sorry, sorry," Ed apologizes. "Didn't expect it'd feel like that, mate, sorry."
Now what on earth does he mean by that.
"Did I do something wrong?"
The look Ed gives him can only be described as fond, bottomlessly so.
"No, 's just intense, 's all."
"Oh."
"Oh," Ed agrees.
Well, then. He can certainly understand the sentiment. His own dick is straining uncomfortably against his pants, which he still hasn't taken off. Leather isn't the most comfortable fabric, he's beginning to realize. He's incredibly turned on, too, is the point, and every one of his senses feels heightened to an almost overwhelming degree.
"Is it okay if I-"
"Yeah, yeah, you can."
"Okay." He feels like giggling, like his lungs are full of helium instead of oxygen.
He leans back over Ed's cock and sucks it between his lips, takes the head into his mouth and lets it sit on his tongue for a second, getting used to the stretch and the taste and the weight of it.
He decides that having a cock in his mouth is profoundly satisfying, after all. In all his late night fantasies he never dreamed it could be like this, the rush of bringing Ed pleasure, of using the soft parts of himself to make the man he loves feel good. He's been hard since he pushed Ed into the wall and poured all his wild need into his mouth, and he feels himself grow impossibly harder at this realization. Tonight is a night of epiphanies, it seems.
Having determined that he likes this rather a lot, actually, he starts bobbing his head up and down on Ed's cock, testing how deep he can take him, listening to his groans and gasps of pleasure for clues about what works best, what makes him whimper and hitch his hips in tiny movements, trying to keep himself from bucking into Stede's mouth again.
He hopes his eagerness is making up for his lack of experience as he drools messily all over Ed's shaft and down his own chin. The way Ed moans loudly when he slides his tongue from root to tip and licks at the head makes the butterflies in his chest hope that it is. He builds a steady rhythm, breathes through his nose and takes him in as deep as he can, endlessly hungry for him. He loses himself in the act for minutes, hours, maybe, until Ed's voice brings him back to himself.
"Stede, fuck," Ed pants. "If you were planning on this going anywhere else tonight, ya're gonna have to stop that. Not that young anymore, mate. Two in a row might be too much to ask for."
His brain scrambles to a stop, and he sits unmoving with Ed's cock in his mouth for a moment. He hasn't been thinking more than two seconds ahead all night, running on instinct and adrenaline and hunger. But if he's honest with himself, he knows where he's wanted to take this since he grabbed Ed by the lapels of his jacket and Ed kissed back desperately.
He pulls off Ed's cock and stares at him, chest heaving, heart beating like a hummingbird's wings inside it.
"Can I fuck you?"
Hasn't this entire night been about asking for what he wants, heeding the hunger that's been gnawing at his insides his whole life, after all? Might as well go for broke.
"Already told ya, you can do anything you want." Stede's owned land and rich fabrics and books and shiny trinkets in the thousands, but nothing has ever compared to Ed offering himself to him like this, trusting and hopeful.
He takes a minute to breathe deeply and calm his mind before he stands up from the bed and removes his trousers. They've undressed in front of each other before, but that was chaste and they'd both turned around while the other got dressed. Stede was still half dead and feverish from a wound to the stomach that day.
This time it's intentional, and a prelude to something more, something he's dreamed about for months, for his entire life, perhaps. Ed has his head turned on the pillow and is watching him hungrily, cheeks rosy, skin shining with sweat, legs still spread out for Stede. The reality is infinitely better than any fantasy he's ever had.
He returns to the bed, kneels between Ed's thighs once more. This is the only home he needs now; he's glad he left every tie he ever had behind so he can nest himself here and stay for good. He doesn't know where to begin, loses his train of thought for a few seconds. Ed gazes at him patently, grants him time to adjust.
"Do you have any oil?" he gifts him a lifeline, as if he hasn't given Stede enough tonight already.
"I- yes." Why is this the thing that's making him blush - he had Ed's dick in his mouth a few minutes ago. He shakes himself and leans over Ed to reach around between the mattress and the window, fishes out the flask that he's kept there for a couple of days. The reason why it's there makes his brain burn even brighter. He has wanted this, and now it's happening.
Ed takes the bottle from him, sets it down on the sheets and holds his fingers gently in his hands to pull the rings off of them one by one, unhurriedly. They clatter against the windowsill when he sets them down, and the sound gets burned in Stede's brain with the weight of an anchor holding him safely in place. Once he's done divesting him of his rings, Ed picks the oil back up and holds Stede's hand in his, pulls off the stopper and pours some of the liquid on the pads of his fingers, where it sits like an offering at an altar.
Stede swallows the lump in his throat, brushes the hair off Ed's face, caresses his temple, his cheekbone, his jaw, runs his thumb over his bottom lip, tenderness welling up inside him and flooding through his skin. Ed takes advantage of his stillness to suck Stede's finger into his mouth, and Stede almost dies then and there. Ed's tongue laves around his finger, and Stede moans brokenly and kisses him, almost forgets that his hand is covered in oil and makes a mess of Ed's skin.
He gazes with naked adoration at Ed as he rubs the oil between his index and middle fingers, coating them thoroughly in it, then braces himself with one arm next to Ed's head, infinitely sorry to have to pull his finger out of his mouth.
He reaches between Ed's legs with his other hand, strokes softly down his balls and his perineum until he reaches his entrance. The next step sends his heart into disarray. He rubs a finger in slow circles against Ed's hole until Ed is whimpering and shaking again, and then he adds a little more pressure to his movements and he's sinking inside him, heat enveloping his finger and his mind. It's tight, and impossibly warm, and doing this feels like nothing's ever felt in Stede's entire life. No rush has ever compared to this, not piracy nor faking his death to chase his freedom.
He moves his finger tentatively in and out, and the way Ed moans his name knocks the breath out of his lungs and has pride crashing inside him like waves in the surf. He does it again, builds a slow, unhurried rhythm. Ed's pants and praises fill the air around them, in this otherwise quiet and secluded spot where only the two of them exist. He adds a second finger when he feels the first one start to glide easily inside him, and Ed's body welcomes it eagerly.
He's enchanted by the sight of Ed in this moment. He looks so lovely and relaxed, Stede's never seen anything more beautiful - no painting or sunset or starry sky could compare. His skin is flushed, his chest rises up and down like butterfly's wings, his skin shines, his eyes are scrunched in pleasure and his hair is an untamed mess around him from the way he keeps tossing his head against the pillow. He wants to press the image of Ed's shameless hunger between the pages of a book and preserve it forever.
He mutters nonsensical praises at him, driving his fingers into him relentlessly, loving the pressure and the feverish warmth of his hole around his fingers. He's high on the way Ed reacts as he strokes inside him, the sounds that pour ceaselessly from his lips, the way his body can't stop shaking uncontrollably, like he wants to climb out of his own skin from how good it feels. He could to this for the rest of his life and never tire of it. His cock his leaking against his stomach, balls tight with need, but none of it matters more than touching Ed like this.
"Stede," Ed whines.
"Yes?"
"Try curling your fingers." The words spark inside Stede's mind like fireworks.
He crooks his fingers experimentally inside Ed as he asked, and Ed's hips shoot of the bed as his hands fist on the sheets, pleas for more pouring from his lips and washing over Stede like summer sunlight. He will gladly spend the rest of his life giving him anything he wants. He has to kiss him, take those sounds into his mouth and drink them in. He leans down, licks his tongue against Ed's lips, and Ed's mouth opens up for him like the rest of his body is opening around Stede's fingers.
He pours all his love into Ed's mouth, breathes hotly against him as their tongues slide wetly together.
"More, please, need you," the words drop from Ed's lips like fireflies in the dark.
Everything, anything. A third finger joins the first two as they slide in and out of Ed's hole, press against the spot that makes him scream. Ed's legs come up to wrap around his waist, holding him tight against his body like he's been doing all night. Stede feels tethered to him; he's never had a place where he belonged, but he belongs with Ed like this, joined from head to toe, wrapped around each other like two people who are meant to be together.
He digs his knuckles deep inside him, longing to get even closer. Ed writhes desperately between the mattress and his body, all fire and hunger, slides his arms around Stede's shoulders and holds on. Flames skid down Stede's skin, and he thrusts his fingers faster, overcome by a need that obliterates any tentativeness he felt. Time stretches infinite between them, eons pass as he gets Ed's body ready for him.
"Stede, fuck me, please. I'm ready," Ed begs, ravenous.
Heat blooms in Stede's chest, sparks down his spine and shoots straight to his cock at the way Ed's voice breaks asking for him.
He separates from Ed only long enough to pour more oil on his fingers, mindful of this body he loves and everything they went through earlier. The pleasure when he fists a hand around his cock to get it slick makes him shiver. He wants to be inside Ed so urgently, needs to feel him under him and around him and in every crevice of his being.
He positions himself and takes a deep steadying breath. Their eyes are locked on each other's again, unable to look away. He grips his cock and guides it towards Ed's hole, presses in slowly. The moment he breeches him Stede feels like he dies and is born again a thousand times, the man he was and the man he is and the man he will become all infinitely in love with Ed, forever.
He pushes in inch by inch, needing to take it slow and feeling like Ed does, too, from the way he's looking at him with hooded eyes, neck taught and fingers clenching on the soft fabric of the sheets beneath them.
He bends to lick a stripe up his neck, tempted by the way it's calling to him. Ed takes advantage of the position to cling to him, legs going around his hips again and skin sticking together with sweat.
When he's finally fully seated inside Ed's body, he pauses and gazes at him, expectant. The pressure is exquisite, like being wrapped in warm flames that can't hurt him. Ed swallows visibly, then nods his head again, inviting Stede to move inside him like he invited him into his mouth at the beginning of the night.
Stede feels split wide open, affection and passion flowing through him and pouring out his of every pore into Ed's body. The "I love yous" gather in his throat and threaten to choke him, but he holds them back because Ed said he wasn't ready to hear them and Stede wouldn't betray his trust like that. He tries to say it with his body instead, peppers tender kisses all over his skin, presses his forehead against his heart and hopes he understands that he's making love to him with everything but his words.
Ed's heels dig against the meat of his ass, his cock slides damp against his stomach as their bodies rock together like a ship in the open ocean. There's a thunderstorm breaking inside Stede, loud and devastating, and he doesn't know what will be left standing in its wake. Moving inside Ed is like lightning and fire and starlight, like every force of nature has gathered here between their flesh. He rocks his hips in slow, deep thrusts, trying to memorize the exact way Ed's body clenches around his cock.
Ed mutters breathless encouragements as he thrusts up to meet him, the push and pull of their bodies ferocious like the sea at high tide. Stede's enveloped in heat, Ed's beautiful body and lovely skin and gorgeous hair and the sweetest brown eyes he's ever seen all that exists for him. He wants to stay like this forever, buried inside him and plastered to him, pleasure coursing back and forth between them like life giving breath.
He brushes the hair off Ed's damp forehead and goes back in for his mouth. Ed bites his lower lip and Stede gasps, breath ragged and head spinning; he feels raw and torn apart. He reaches down and clasps Ed's fingers between his, rests their joined hands on the pillow next to Ed's head, anchoring them together to survive the storm. There are tears welling in his eyes again, and Ed kisses them tenderly, buries his fingers in Stede's hair and claims his lips in a deep kiss.
Pleasures builds deep inside him as his cock drags hotly inside ed, threatening to pull him under. He picks up the rhythm, drives into him again and again as they hold onto each other and gasp heatedly into one another's mouths. He adjusts the angle of his hips on his next thrust and Ed's fingernails rake down his back, leaving a trail of burning embers in their wake.
"Stede," he moans brokenly, and electricity shoots along Stede's spine like he's been shocked. He does it again, frenzied to hear Ed's voice utter his name drenched in need like that over and over.
Ed cries out, grips Stede's arm tight enough to bruise, and Stede will wear the lovely shades of purple on his skin proudly, a mark of their passion to match the ones he left on Ed's thighs earlier.
"That's it, hold onto me. Let me give you what you need." He needs to take care of him so very desperately.
His hand leaves Ed's to wrap around his cock, dragging his fingers through the slick collected on his stomach to ease the slide, and Ed squirms and moans out loud, unraveled beneath him. Stede's starting to lose himself to the blaze sparking dangerously between them, swims in molten lava as Ed cries out his name and begs him to go faster.
He snaps his hips harder, matching his intensity bit by bit. The desire to give Ed pleasure supersedes everything else in Stede's mind. He needs to hear him scream in ecstasy and witness what he looks like in the throes of passion, with all his walls down and moaning Stede's name, begging him for more, harder, faster.
He moves at a feverish pace inside him, pulls out and slams back into him at the angle that makes Ed scream, as he fists Ed's cock tightly in his hand, trying all he things he likes on himself and hoping Ed enjoys them too.
It's blinding, all this feeling, like staring directly into the sun for too long. He feels a chasm open up inside him that may never be fully filled, an aching hunger for Ed that can never be satiated.
"I'm so close stede - fuuck - please, please!" Ed begs incoherently. And Stede cries out from how intense the pleasure of being connected with him like this is, moans praises into Ed's skin and chases both their releases as best as he can.
"It's okay, Ed, it's okay, I've got you. Wanna make you feel so good."
"You - ah, right there! - you already are."
Stede feels his orgasm building and building for an impossibly long time, high on the way they're joined and the hot flesh underneath him and having sex for the first time in his life in a way that is actually enjoyable.
Ed is groaning and whimpering brokenly, urging Stede on with his ankles around his ass and rocking back and forth between his dick in his hole and the tight fist on his cock. He's beyond beautiful lost in his pleasure, and Stede wants this to be the event that marks every one of his days. This is what he ran off to sea for, freedom and Ed and a love they can build together one day at a time.
Ed pulls him down towards his chest again, and Stede buries his face in his neck and bites down softly on tender skin, needing a release for the euphoria he's feeling.
Ed's hips shoot off the bed when his teeth close around his skin and he's coming in endless stripes between them, painting his and Stede's stomachs with his spend.
"Ed, oh my god, fuck I'm gonna-"
"Come on, Stede, come for me."
And it's the words and how ragged and stripped raw they sound that push him over the edge, into a bottomless ocean of Ed and pleasure and heat. He loses track of the next few minutes, as he empties himself inside Ed and collapses in a useless heap of leaden limbs on top of him.
Ed runs his hands softly through his hair, down his shoulders, his arms, offering grounding touches that Stede is grateful for while he struggles to remember where up and down are, wrung out and trying to get to shore.
He breathes heavily into Ed's chest until his lungs stop feeling like they're full of coals, kisses his heart tenderly and tries to pour all his love into him so he will know how important tonight has been for him.
"Was that good?" he asks shyly when he can finally look up at him again.
Ed chuckles.
"Mate, I just came my brains out, what do ya think? I think you finally finished fixing my lower back."
Stede laughs, drunk on love and Ed, and beams at him, pleased that he accomplished what he set out to do and made Ed feel good after a decidedly unpleasant evening.
"You're gonna need to move at some point, ya little blond barnacle. We're gonna get stuck together if we don't clean up," Ed says after a while of lying pressed together. That doesn't sound like the worst thing to him.
Stede feels like he should be offended at being compared to a barnacle, but he can't find it in himself to care. He would cling to Ed for the rest of his days if he was allowed, so it's not like it's a lie.
He reluctantly rolls over to lie next to him on the bed instead of on top of him, and winces a little at the stickiness. Sex was never this messy for him before, but he could grow to love this part, too, the evidence of how much they both enjoyed what happened between them.
He's floating high above his body, thinks he might easily get addicted to sex with Ed if he's allowed, if it always feels like this, like warmth and joy and shared passion.
Ed pushes off the bed and gets up, and Stede's brain panics a little. He wants to hold him all night, wake up tangled together on soft sheets in the morning.
Ed must notice something in his face because he leans down to plant a soft kiss on his lips and says "Just going to fetch something to clean up with, 'kay? Be right back."
Stede relaxes back into the comfortable bed, watches Ed walk away without a stitch of clothing on with undisguised lust, and then decides to try and get the sheets back into some kind of order before he returns so they can actually sleep here tonight.
He's lying languidly back on tidier sheets, body liquid and mind at ease, when Ed returns with a soft wet cloth and kneels down next to him to wipe off the come from his stomach, then tenderly swipes it over his spent cock. Stede shivers at the overstimulation. The gentle care Ed is showing him is almost as intoxicating as the sex was.
Once he's satisfied with his work, Ed throws the rag on the floor next to their discarded clothes and climbs back into bed with him. Stede opens his arms for him, invites him to be held like Ed's been inviting him into his body all night.
Ed goes easily, tucks his head under Stede's chin and throws a leg over his to pull him closer. Stede wraps his arms around him happily, settles him comfortably with his weight resting half on top of him. The world has never been a better place than it is tonight.
He combs his fingers slowly through Ed's hair, the urge to touch him no less consuming after what they shared. Ed hums contented little noises against his skin, goes boneless in his arms.
His eyelids start to droop and he wants to say all the things Ed isn't ready to hear. I love you. I'm yours. Stay with me forever.
They will have time. The world is theirs for the taking, they can go at whatever pace Ed needs.
"Sweet dreams, Ed," is what he settles for instead.
"Night, Stede," Ed whispers back.
He falls asleep listening to Ed's soft breaths in the quiet room.
#blackbonnet#gentlebeard#ofmd#ofmd spoilers#my fic#writing this took me out actually#i feel wrung out#please god let us have s3 so i can make them say i love you during sex and call each other pet names and do all the freaky things they want#i can't stand how this was everything i ever wanted and it also left me feeling starved for more
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i think it’s important everyone knows about the little roman girl who died at only five years and seven months old, and her grave reads "dum vixi, lusi" or "while i lived, i played"
#her epitaph actually has a much longer poem which contains this line#and it’s not like. stylistically high quality poetry either#which indicates this was not a poem someone was hired to write for the grave (as was a relatively common practice)#but instead written out of love by one of her family members#it’s twenty three lines of mostly correct dactylic hexameter#and it makes me bawl when i read it#we translated it in a latin class i took a few years ago and then wrote our own latin poems about our friends
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Sub Bucky and a breeding kink 💀 dead unlived it's one of my favourite things 😌
This is pretty high up there on my list of dream fantasies 🥵 these are two of my biggest weaknesses, don't even look at me rn
One of life's greatest joys is cuddling with the other person's head resting on your chest so you can play with their hair and rub their shoulders. I love that shit, having someone else's body weight on you is so comforting.
I imagine that's something Bucky would really enjoy too. It's so soft and sweet and tender and getting to feel cared for would really appeal to him.
But that's up until his hands work their way under your top, up over your bare skin so he's able to cup your breasts and bury his face between them while he's getting his hair played with. Life's pleasures don't get much simpler than that.
After a few moments he shifts slightly, tugging the neckline of your shirt out of the way to give himself space to kiss and nip your skin. All of a sudden he's desperate and it's beautiful to watch.
"Please." He whispers between frantic kisses, flicking his tongue over the stiff peak of your nipple before engulfing it with his warm, eager mouth.
"Please, what?" You tease, tugging on his hair just a little for emphasis.
He groans, frustrated by his own lack of coherence, pulling his mouth from your nipple. "Please let me put a baby in you."
That's not what you were expecting but fuck, he makes it sound pretty appealing.
"Bucky-" You begin but he cuts you off, giving your other nipple the same attention as he gave the first. God, that's distracting.
"You'd make. Such. A pretty. Mommy." He whispers, kissing his way down your body until he reaches the bottom seam of your top. From there, he pulls it off, letting it fall to the floor before removing the rest of your clothes.
"You'd look so pretty with a little baby bump." His huge hand rests on your bare tummy, imaging how your body would change.
"I want it, Buck." You mean it too. It doesn't sound like such a bad idea when he's taking his clothes off.
"I know you want it." He groans, rubbing the tip of his dick against your soaked core. "Y-you're so wet."
He presses his hips forward, sliding inside you and you can't explain it but you swear it feels different this time.
"Don't even think about pulling out." You cup his face in your hands, keeping his eyes on you and you almost worry he's going to fuck himself senseless into you. "I want you to make me a mommy. You're going to give me every single drop of cum and when it starts to drip out of me, you're going to fuck it back in."
His head falls onto your shoulder, sobbing a pathetic moan against your already hot skin. The pace of his thrusts matches his need, his hips slamming into yours and when he finally gives in, he cums inside you with your legs clamped around his waist, making sure he couldn't pull out even if he wanted to.
#asks answered <3#becca writes spice#anon#sub!bucky#subby bucky#this is one of those fantasies that's nice in my head#I think I'd like to be at that point in my life but it's absolutely not where I'm at rn#maybe some day tho#I started writing a new series yesterday#making a lil moodboard#excited to post the concept#can't decide if I want each chapter to feel like a continuation of the one before#or if I want the chapters to be more detached from each other with time passing in between#might actually space it out over a weekend?#I took my lil granny out for lunch today and she's just the cutest#she usually comes up to ours for Sunday lunch but my parents were out this weekend#so I made her dinner last night and took it down to her and I asked if she wanted to go out for Sunday lunch for a change#she made me book the table right there in front of her so she'd be able to look forward to it 🥺#I sat with her for over an hour yesterday evening and she smiled nearly the whole time#she's too cute I swear
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☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]
{☆} characters arlecchino, furina, lyney
{☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings blood
{☆} word count 3.7k
{☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]
Fontaine was bathed in darkness, not even the moon daring to illuminate where the common man fears to walk. The streets were bleak and empty save for the constant, rhythmic ticking and clanking of machines marching on endlessly, dauntlessly wading where even the bravest dared not to venture. Not even the sharp click of the Gardes boots followed the occasional hisses of steam as they walked the barren streets.
It was haunting, and it'd been like that for days now. It showed little signs of stalling in the slightest, too. Every inch of Fontaine was practically crawling with Gardemeks– like a swarm of rats skittering about.
Arlecchino had secluded herself in the Hotel Bouffes d'ete for days at this point, waiting– biding her time. Her nails clicked against the wood as she tapped at the table in a stilted rhythm, the subtle click of the clock mixing into the clanking outside, weaving in and out of earshot as the patrols slipped by. She reached forward after a moment of thought, reaching for the white king.
She leaned back against the chaise, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a patrol of Gardemeks as they vanished behind the rows and rows of buildings. It wasn't enough to keep her attention for long, however, her features twisting in disinterest as she glanced back to the chessboard– and the letter neatly resting beside it. The seal was unmistakable and a sobering sight, demanding her attention– the soft hues of blue etched into the shape of a dragon stared back at her in a way that almost unsettled her.
She had already parsed through it's contents hundreds of times, but she was met with only vague, flowing script that only served to irritate her more then anything– it filled the page top to bottom yet managed to say nothing at all. Her hand reached out again, but instead of reaching for the letter she plucked the black rook from the board, setting it down with a soft click.
Arlecchino had all the time in the world to sit back and observe her prey, but all that time would be useless if she lacked the information to act.
And he was quite tight fisted about it, evidentially. None of her inquiries or attempts to decipher any potential codes in the letter left her empty handed. She could not act without even knowing the reason for his summons– it was almost worded like a personal affair rather then one would expect for a foreign diplomat. In truth, she'd expected a scalding report on her operatives, but it lacked any mention of anything of the sort.
She was no stranger to people masking hostility behind pretty words and compliments, not that it was ever unwarranted per se– the Fatui did not create connections through honesty and genuine kindness. They have strong armed more then their fair share of people into cooperation to the point distrust is all the Fatui are met with outside of Snezhnaya. Every word was meant to conceal the deceit, every action meant to conceal the price later paid.
So she had been..skeptical of the letter, to put it lightly. She doubted the Iudex of all people would offer a hand to the Fatui without a price attached– a trap, perhaps, meant to lure in the most powerful piece left on the board. Her eyes narrowed, reaching for a white rook and moving it to the right.
Or he was hiding something. Something that he simply couldn't risk getting out to anyone, not even the Divine themself. A tempting prize, whatever it was.
..A dangerous prize, too.
She'd considered burning the letter and forgetting it all together– the risk was great, and she couldn't risk getting caught up by whoever else the Iudex may have on his side of the board. But she could hardly pass up the challenge and the prize that he fought so hard to keep from prying eyes and ears. Even her agents came back empty handed each time. She lazily picked up a black rook, sliding the white pawn aside.
"Lyney," Arlecchino drawled, crossing one leg over the other and turning her gaze to the door as it slowly creaked open. The pale visage of Lyney stepped through, though his siblings were noticeably absent. The weariness that weighed down on his shoulders was apparent in the slightest furrow of his brows and the subtle creak of leather as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Father." He choked out, the title dragged out by the sharp inhale and shaky exhale.
He looked out of breath, she noted.
The silence that lingered after the small exchange was punctuated only by the click of another chess piece being moved. She sets aside the black rook, letting it sit among the dozen other pieces that had been wiped off the board. She can see the conviction glinting beneath the fog of exhaustion, but if he would utilize it was another matter all together.
He had seemed to make his choice quickly, at the very least.
"Our contacts and operatives within the Fortress of Meropide have gone silent– all we have is their final confirmed missive.." His voice is confident, but it is rigid as the words spill from his lips. He takes a sharp step forward, unfolding his arms from behind his back and opening his hands– the small, water stained and messily folded note catches her eye, plucking it from his palms with a half hearted interest. "They believe the Duke left the Fortress of Meropide..and that he may be coming to the Court of Fontaine."
Her eyes narrow dangerously, nearly crumpling the thin paper in her hands– yet just as quickly, she collects herself.
But she cannot get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, lingering as she sets down the note and slides it to the side, her lips pursed into a thin line.
So the Iudex had shown one of his pieces..she tightly grasps a black rook, tipping over the white rook, letting it roll against the board.
If the Duke was involved, things were much more complicated then she expected– he would be a problem, she was certain. She couldn't blame the lamb for fearing the wolf, either. Whether her agents had been killed or captured by the man mattered little. He had his ways, and he was a force that could instill fear in even them.
Which meant the possibility that her operation was already compromised was far too real.
What had the Iudex so concerned he had gone through the trouble of bringing in the Duke and herself? The Fatui was one thing, but to specifically request one of it's Harbingers..
The Prophecy? The thought had her clenching her fist, but..no. If it were to rear it's head now, the Iudex could simply not afford to waste time on his contacts deciphering his nonsensical script– If the prophecy were to be the issue, there time would be limited to mere minutes in the worst of cases. Which meant it was worth biding his time in order to ensure absolute secrecy.
So if not the prophecy, then what?
Her next moves were..limited. She was already walking on eggshells considering her position and the reputations of the Fatui– especially with a Harbinger in the midst. If they caught wind of her operations, they'd weed out her operatives and be on guards for any snakes that lingered in their garden.
She reached for the chessboard again, picking up one of the white rooks from the board with a scowl. The sharp click as she sets down the white rook and sets aside the black pawn draws a shaky inhale from Lyney as she moves another black pawn, the dull click of the pieces drowning out the distant clinking of machines.
..A draw, perhaps.
The pieces were all falling into place– the players of this game were slowly being revealed. Whether she could secure her victory..she was unsure.
She wasn't even sure who her opponent was. Only that the Iudex himself was but another piece in their game.
Arlecchino reached for the board again, yet this time she hesitated. Perhaps she could still swipe the win from beneath them, if she played her cards right.
She would simply have to capture the king– or, if need be, let it end on a draw. Either way, she would not concede. She could not afford to concede. Down to the last piece, she would drag out this match until she was in a position to force their hand into the outcome she desired.
She stood slowly, picking up the king piece and observing it for only the briefest of moments before she set it down on the table, taking measured steps around the table and across the room. She was hunting a much more dangerous quarry today– it would be no simple runaway traitor this time.
"Do you remember the directive?" She inquired coldly, her hand lingering on the door for that long, tense moment. "..Yes, Father." Lyney faltered, taking a hesitant step back and bowing at the waist. "Then do not stray."
All that was left was the silence and click of the door shutting behind her as she disappeared down the hall, her boots clicking harshly against the floorboards. The rest of the agents knew better then to linger in her path as she stepped down into the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. She barely even acknowledged the Fatui agent standing at the ready by the heavyset doors, their gloves hands held out with her cloak held loosely in their palms. She quickly snagged it from them, tugging it over her board shoulders and clasping it around her throat.
With a quick tug, she brought the hood up over her head to conceal her sharp features, lifting her hand and placing a neatly folded note within their waiting hands. She had only one chance to make the right moves and secure her victory– no matter the cost.
Each piece had it's purpose.
Oft, that purpose was a bloody and horrible end– but for the grand goal of the Fatui built on the backs of the dead, it was an honor.
She didn't bother speaking a word as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, pushing open the heavyset doors and stepping out into the barren, damp streets. The rhythmic clink and whir of Gardemeks was still distant– she needed to move. Her boots clicked and splashed in the rain soaked stone of the streets as she slithered between the buildings, ducking through the openings in the patrols.
It was almost too easy.
She tilted her head back, taking in the towering Palais Mermonia with a scowl, her hands clenched into fists. The final moves were being played– the king was within her reach, yet she felt no more confident then when she began.
The air carried a sense of unease, thick and heavy, filling her lungs until she felt her breath still in her chest– listening to the empty, bleak night that seemed so..quiet.
She'd done her fair share of research, had more then her fair share of her agents try to peer into the Iudex's office or the Archon's supposedly hidden chambers, but every attempt was a failure. She had to give them credit, they were quite elusive when they wished to be. Though now she only thought about it bitterly– this was all a risky gamble, in the end, and only time would tell if it paid off.
With minimal effort, she'd managed to pull herself to the flat, tiled roof, eyeing the massive tower peaking out of the center cautiously. At least here the wandering patrols down below weren't likely to notice her..she could hear them passing by the spot she'd been in only a few minutes ago, just beneath her. She pulled the hood further over her face, peering through the sheer darkness of the night for any oddities, but it was almost impossible to see in the dark.
Her boots clicked softly against the tiles as she approached the tower jutting out from the Palais, her hand gliding along the smooth stone, pressing against odd indents or crevices. If it was for the Archon's chambers, she doubted they made it very difficult– she'd only met the woman once, but she doubted the Iudex make it all that complex just from a brief glance. And it surprised her little when one of the stones sunk into the wall, gears whirring as the walls split open to reveal a stairwell straight into an inky black hall. Only the barest hint of light peaked under the door at the bottom, but it's occupants must have heard her, considering it went out not a moment later.
She cautiously stepped down into the small crevice, her breath visible in the bitter cold air– her shoulders tensed at the subtle sound of muffled footsteps behind the door, her vision flaring with a molten heat between her shoulder blades as she reached for the worn handle of the door. The heat of her vision was enough to just barely heat the metal, her vision flaring like a quickly building inferno.
Arlecchino was prepared for a fight, if it came down to it.
The door creaked as she pressed against it, shoving it open with a grunt of effort and surveying the room with narrowed eyes and a biting remark on the tip of her tongue– the lavish opulence was expected, she supposed, but the lack of the towering figure of the Iudex was not.
Yet before she could get a word in or even take in her surroundings properly, the light flickered back on and she had to squeeze her eyes shut with a hiss at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door being shoved closed behind her, the hurried footsteps retreating just as quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light.
..This was a joke, wasn't it? It had to be.
She'd expected the Iudex, perhaps even the Duke if she'd been unlucky, not the Hydro Archon. She had half the mind to test her worth as an Archon then and there, her temper flaring like an uncontrollable blaze, barely kept at bay. It took all her self control to force herself to smile politely at the woman rather then snarl.
"Miss Furina," She sneered beneath her hood, x shaped pupils locked onto the startled, trembling Archon with thinly veiled contempt. "What a..pleasant surprise. You'll have to forgive my manners, I assumed I was meeting with the Iudex." She observed her body language carefully– the way her eyes darted about like a frightened rabbit seeking escape, the slightest tremble of her lips..
Arlecchino opened her mouth to offer another scathing remark, but her jaw audibly clicked shut as her entire body seemed to lock up. Even her vision went cold against her back, a chilling feeling creeping up her spine as someone, or something, crept up behind her. Their footsteps were almost silent, the slight rustling of their clothes the only thing she could hear over her heart pounding against her ribcage.
Arlecchino had always prided herself on being on the other end of that sensation– she was the monster, and her target was the prey frozen like a deer between the hunters crosshair.
It was a chilling feeling to have the dynamic shifted on it's head.
She couldn't even swallow, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear it creak as she tried to reason with her quickly splintering mind– a futile effort, her joints locking up almost painfully. Black spots were quickly swallowing her vision from the lack of air in her lungs, the sound of shuffling behind her barely audible over the ringing in her ears.
For a moment – a moment too long to have only lasted the seconds that it did, yet so quick it gave her whiplash – she thought she would hit the floor dead before she could even glimpse her assailant.
And then it was gone. She came crashing back into reality with a startled inhale, her lungs burning and her knees nearly buckling under her. The instinct to lash out and kill whoever had done it was intense, yet she couldn't bring herself to move even a finger– it would be so easy to twist around and ignite them with searing flames, but her feet were rooted in place.
She almost didn't notice the surprisingly gentle hands unclasping her cloak, tugging it off her shoulders, if not for the sheer intensity of the presence still lingering behind her. Her mind was still fractured, struggling to right itself after the ordeal, and it had her seething.
"..Are you certain you held back enough?" Furina croaked, the normally soft lilt raspy and almost hoarse. "Not– not that I doubt your capability, most Divine!"
Arlecchino felt her nails dig harshly into her palms, heat swelling beneath her skin– Divine? Had she lost her mind? The Divine was..
The Divine was upon their throne where they belonged. She'd seen them!
"Hm. Well, maybe? Sorry, I didn't think it'd affect you too." Their voice was sickeningly soft as they stepped around her like she wasn't even there, focusing their attention on the Archon who seemed more then delighted about it. "What gave you that impression, most Divine? Aha, I..was completely unaffected, as you can see! Perfectly fine."
Furina let out a small squeak when they pinched her cheek, but the almost affectionate smile that tugged at their lips revealed the lack of malice behind the action.
"You're a bad liar, Furina. You might want to sit down..please?" They didn't take her protests for an answer, gently pushing her to sit on the bed before abruptly turning to face Arlecchino once more, a forced smile on their lips. "Oh, good, you're..uh, not dead. That's good. I thought I fried your brain. Sorry?"
..Had she hit her head on the way here? The Divine should still be on their throne, yet she couldn't shake the weight of their stare– it felt tangible. She felt like she was standing face to face with the stars– galaxies and constellations bearing down upon her.
She grit her teeth and clenched her hands until she felt the sting of her nails against her palms, grounding herself in the pain through the sheer overwhelming nature of their existence.
"You.." She croaks, reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, lifting them up until their feet left the floor– she pays no mind to the startled protests of the Archon. Arlecchino would crush her like a bug before she even got the chance to intervene and they both knew it. "You shouldn't exist– you aren't them, and yet you..you're the imposter, aren't you?" Her grip tightens yet they face her without an ounce of fear, meeting her unyielding glare with a pondering look.
Arlecchino wanted to make them bleed just to see if she could, the urge to sink her teeth into skin welling up in her chest to the point she visibly snarled, her mask of politeness long . "You're the imposter." Her expression falls for a moment before she schools it into one of apathy, setting them back down and holding them there for a moment, finally releasing them after a tense moment. "Or you were supposed to be."
Hers brows furrow– she wants to demand answers, to throttle them for damning them to being nothing more then dolls for the supposed Divine to break at their whim, but none of the words come to her.
"..Why now? The current Divine has been in power for years, yet you descend now?" Her shoulders tensed, lips pursed into a thin line– it's impossible to ignore the truth that lay before her. The Divine is a fraud and this..imposter is the true Divine. How many years had they been in power, now? How many years were they waiting? Why did they wait? Was the suffering of Teyvat not enough? Was the blood that painted the steps of their stolen throne not enough?
She'd personally been on the wrong end of the Divine's wrath– she wonders..had they watched? Had they seen the cruel hand of their imposter and turned their back on Teyvat?
"I.." They hesitated. It made her seethe, her hands clenching into fists at her sides– her vision flickered, flames swelling within it's casing just to be smothered by the presence of the Divine. But once that spark had been lit, she refused to let it go out. "I didn't know."
The answer does not satisfy her. There is an itch beneath her skin that she cannot scratch, a fire that burns in her chest so hot it scorches even herself.
"And what about now? Are you content to cower like prey in the safety of the Palais Mermonia?" She snapped, taking a step forward, her brows furrowed and her glare intense– she can see the slightest bit of worry in their eyes. She revels in it. "Will you let them use your acolytes like pawns? How many more need to be broken on the steps to your throne before you act?"
Again, her vision flares and dims– it refuses to be used against the Divine that created it.
"Have you no answer?"
The room is silent. They do not speak and neither does she.
Even the world itself seems to quiet in the face of her accusations, fury boiling to the surface so hot it incinerated all it touched.
"I will kill them myself."
Their words are quiet, but they are not soft– there is a vindictive, searing anger that explodes out like dying stars within their eyes. The sight of constellations replaced by a void that would not be . The smell of ichor grows stronger– to the point she feels almost lightheaded.
"..I am aware that I have failed in preventing this, but I had no choice in the matter. Still," They muse, their voice like the tolling of bells. A solemn melody that stills the swelling fury burning in her chest, if only for a moment. "I will rectify it– I will tear down their throne of lies and let not even the earth tarnish itself by burying their corpse among it's soil."
They pause for a moment, holding out their hand– scarred and bandaged by the weapons of the devout, yet still they take upon the burden of dirtying their hands to save those who did not save them.
"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"
Did she?
"Will you help me?"
She exhales heavily, meeting the starry iris' of the Divine with a scowl still tugging at her lips. Arlecchino trusted no one but herself.
"..Yes."
#sagau#genshin sagau#self aware genshin#genshin impact sagau#self aware genshin impact#fic tag#imposter au#genshin cult au#genshin impact cult au#arlecchino#lyney#furina#you do NOT wanna know what i got put thru writing this fic#trying 2 find out where arle was in the few times we DO see her and going down a rabbit hole of fuck fontaine and its layout actually!#I spent like 3 hours looking it up and checking in game it gives me a migraine thinking abt it. ew#anyway trying to write a really smart character is surprisingly difficult when ur as dumb as rocks#also used an actual chess match for this and gave myself an even worse migraine trying 2 make sure i didnt repeat moves or smth#furina doesnt get a spotlight yet just imagine her sitting in the corner trembling like a wet kitten you found on the side of the road#arlecchino goes thru a crisis more at 11#shes a tired single dad shes isnt getting paid enough for this okay#hands u a fic over half the length of the other THREE PARTS#ehe :]#is arle actually on ur side??? is she gonna double cross u???? who knows!!!!!#shes unpredictable she might stab u for funsies#anyway im gonna go nap in a ditch now this took SO LONGGGGG OH MY G-D#also just think acolytes who arent buddy buddy w reader and even resent them is so tasty#bc how r they supposed 2 know reader was a human vibing 5 minutes before their got eebied 2 teyvat..#reader gotta roll up their sleeves and get 2 WORK sometimes murder IS okay#they gotta fix some shit around here and that means committing several crimes all at once. sometimes more#a group can be g-d (just got here) their dragon (neuvi) their cat (archon) their dog (wrio) and their wolf (arle)
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You and Bakugou had discussed your plans of your future pretty early on in the relationship. You wanted to move in by this time, be engaged at this time, have your wedding, enjoy married life, and then have kids. Only thing now, is to have kids. But the problem?
Bakugou keeps pulling out.
You’re not sure what’s going on, where the hold up is coming from. You went through all the steps of getting off your birth control, prepping your body for what’s to come. The only thing you need is him, and for some reason, he keeps denying the last piece of the puzzle.
You confront him finally, after another night of him wiping down your stomach and inner thighs. You lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling with a soft frown. Bakugou pecks at your collarbone and squeezes your flank to hear you giggle, but you only shuffle a little away from him. He pauses, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he stares down at your crumpled expression.
“What’s going on?” He hums quietly, brushing a few hairs from your forehead as he throws the washcloth on the ground. He holds your face in both hands, kissing gently at your skin when he sees your bottom lip wobble in frustration.
“Why won’t you cum inside me?” You snap, cringing as the words leave your mouth. You could’ve said them a little more gracefully, but it’s hard finding grace when your life plans have suddenly come to a halt without a word on his part. Bakugou’s eyes bulge in confusion before a soft look passed over his face. He sighs, body slumping on top of you heavily, knocks the breath from your lungs and the tears from the corners of your eyes.
“Didn’t think you’d notice,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck, flinching a little when you pinch his side.
“How couldn’t I have noticed? I thought this was our final step to completing the life we wanted together. What happened?” Your voice gets softer with every word until you’re nothing but a whisper in the quietness of the room. Bakugou doesn’t say anything for a long while, just breathes in the scent of you before murmuring quietly,
“I don’t think I’ll be a good dad.” He confesses. You’re not sure if you should stop him and reassure him, but he takes a deep shaky inhaled breath in, and you decide to let him continue.
“I don’t wanna be an absent father to the only brats I’ll ever have. They deserve to have someone be there for them, every step of the way. I don’t think—I don’t think they deserve to have a fucked up person as a father. ‘S not fair.”
You can only lay there and listen, rubbing gently at his back, over his scars and still healing wounds. You run a hand through his hair and blink away tears when you feel his sniffle more than hear it. You both stew in what’s been said for what feels like hours before you speak up.
“How can you say that, when we’ll have the safest kids on the block?” You whisper, pulling his face from your neck so he can look at you, wipe away the stray tears that muddle his ruddy cheeks.
“Knowing you, Katsuki, you’ll be there no matter what. No matter what strings you have to pull, time you have to sacrifice, how many times you’ll have to break your neck—you’ll be there, because you always are. For me, for our friends, your parents, for the shitty civilians that never wanna listen to your instructions.” Bakugou chuckles a little at that, mumbling a quiet, shitty extras, under his breath. You smile at him, leaning forward to kiss his eyelids and eyebrows and forehead and nose and cheeks and lips. When you pull back, he smiles softly, just a quirk of the corner of his mouth and blinks up at you like some big cat.
“You’ll be a great dad, because you’re a great person first and foremost. And our kids will love you unconditionally because you are their dad.” You whisper to him, pressing a final kiss to his lips for the night. With that, you two lay together, discussing possible plans on future endeavors, how you guys will work together when the kids are here, time taken off and how it’ll be spent together.
So, it shouldn’t, but it comes as a surprise months later when Bakugou wakes up one morning to find an empty ceramic mug sitting on the kitchen table. You’re sat beside it, failing to hide a grin behind your own mug you sip at, a new one he hasn’t seen before. He looks at you funny, before picking up the mug, eyes bulging out of his head as he reads what’s on it, and the little capped stick inside.
He doesn’t say anything as he embraces you, pulling you up from your chair and hugging you to him as your giggles fill the atmosphere of the house. The quiet house, that in a few months, won’t be as quiet for much longer.
#sorry this took me two hours to write bc I was cleaning in between lol#happy Father’s Day to all the daddies out there#this is the first fathers day that I’m not actually sad and crying lmao#a win is a win! 😌#okay bye I gotta finish cleaning 🏃🏽♂️#bakugou treats! 🍬#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#dad bkg
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Ion even blame Leyley😮💨😮💨
#the coffin of andy and leyley#andrew graves#andrew graves x reader#I made this for a bot photo actually lol#x reader#hes so fine idek like wtfff#my artwork#digital art#idk how to do gifs#might do ashley but idk… she fine asf too#the gif rlly took all the quality out💀#i kinda wanna right an andrew x reader but im not sure..#feel free to send me writing requests :)
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Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.
Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen
A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death
#hellsing#alucard#kouta hirano#translation was found in a comment by u/lazyfoxheart on r/Kurrent#fun fact this is the highest quality version of this image that exists online#i know because i've been looking forever for a version that's clear enough to actually read what hirano wrote under '1443'#but there weren't any so i had to take matters into my own hands#the real image on the back of the guidebook is only 2 inches tall so i had to take this with my smartphone and will my hands not to shake#anyway i'm pretty sure it's supposed to say Eğrigöz (the location vlad was imprisoned) so yeah. thank you hirano very cool#if i might rant for a sec it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure that out because i didn't have the guidebook at first#and in the images i could find online that part was just a blur that looked suspiciously like a person's signature and i was like. who tf#i was thinking matthias corvinus since he issued some political propaganda against vlad iirc but it didn't match his signature on wikipedia#then i thought it might be vlad II dracul's since he probably had to sign an agreement to send his sons over as hostages at some point#but that didnt seem right either so i kept skimming vlad's wiki page#and then i was like goddammit...hirano.....you just misspelled Eğrigöz didn't you.. ....#i maybe should've made a separate post dedicated to this instead of writing a novel in the tags but eh#the hellsing brainrot runs deep#also- i put it in the source link at the bottom of the post but the german inscription is copied off a real woodcut of vlad from 1491#except instead of depicting him as an adult hirano drew him as a child which gives the inscription a very different feel imo#the one final thing that interests me about this is the fact that hirano published this calendar in 2002#which is REALLY early in the series. like this was before volume 5 came out??#i have no idea why he decided to do a massive spoiler drop in a random piece of japan-only merch#sandwiched between a drawing of alucard as john travolta from saturday night fever and integra as a fish no less#it makes me really curious to know what the fan response to this was back then. like did people even know who this was#maybe im just an idiot and everyone back then was like 'ah yes its alucard as a 12 year old. how very informative'
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pay attention to theo’s beautiful face and not whatever matthias’s arm is doing... i liked the lighting more here than against the wall
#these are the last screenshots i wanted to edit from the ones i took on the 22nd and had been slowly editing throughout the week#will finally be putting mattodore in their thirties to rest 🙏⚰️#river dipping#echthroi#matthias evanoff#theodore doe#a burning house to live in#ts4#ts4 edit#simblr#ended up not doing much to these screenshots tbh… i was so into the audiobook i was listening to i kinda just. stared at the wall a lot...#my brain was telling me this wasn’t worth posting bc i’ve done so many mattodore edits recently and this isn’t anything different but.#like i did actually spend a few hours with these edits so. on one hand i’m like this isn’t really anything#but on the other hand i’m like. well they’re my ocs whom i love dearly and i’ll probably enjoy looking back at this#the same way i do all my other recent edits which i open my own blog up to stare at like. multiple times in a day#obsessed atm……..#anyway.#god… matthias is so huge he always takes up so much space i’m constantly having to crop him out of edits 😭#and these are poses that weren’t even made from me…. so he’s not even at his full 6’3’’ height and size like 😭😭😭#he distracted me but that aside... i'm waiting for my game to open up atm so i can get back to tweaking alessandria's sim#her face is gonna take me forever.................................#ik i don't talk about my other ocs on here much anymore but alessandria is my third favorite oc (mattodore obviously being my top two)#so... i'm seriously gonna agonize over every update i make for them now kjdhknjf#ocs with tragic backstories save me...................#i’ll probably spend a few hours with alessandria in cas and then i’m going back to google docs to write more abt mattodore
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Hello 👋
Swallowing my nerves at last to send you an ask! I was just wondering, what inspires your designs? Are their inspirations in stuff like movies or games? Or just things you come up with yourself?
i .. honestly its kinda hard to tell, sometimes i just randomly think of something, like some detail, or color combination and try to incorporate that into a design somehow; it can come from anywhere, like the color scheme of a pithaya/dragonfruit is something i have been wanting to make a design with for ages but havent come up with anything good in all those years ;O;
im a very easily fascinated by color, espeically in nature, like sometimes i just stop and stare at something like i froze in time bc i just woooooooooooooah color! i probably look like a weirdo doing that though
its really hard to pinpoint anything specifically, the most is probably .. other artists? i guess? which always makes me nervous bc my memory is shit in most areas of life and i worry myself to pieces whether i unintentionally "stole" an idea and just dont remember and think it was my own, it goes further that sometimes i see something that makes me want to draw a similar concept but dont bc i dont want to 'steal' even if that couldnt be further from my intention (have been accused of that before ..)
that said for my ocs specifically .. most are rather old and have just kinda evolved out of their awkward first iterations (shargons first iteration was a hauro-howl- copy that was really just some human covered in feathers .. another oc was once a hellboy copy but in green- havent drawn nor redeisgn them in ages lol), the biggest inspirations for them is a mix of animals, bonus if you dont see them often- im a big shark, whale and sea creatures in general nerd so i tend to take from them as a priority but always trying to be less directly animal and mostly just .. features that work together
Eadrya is one of the newer OCs- i started to write but then looked at my folders and oh they are from 2017 .., i even made a design timeline for them how much they, and my art, have changed back in 2020, so thats also way outdated now lol (they apparently started as a whale .. thing? its like a pokemon evolution lol)
this is them now (i like this sketch still, though shargons design is now also outdated lmao)
this ones from early 2023 so also outdated now but you get the point
for demons i try to be a bit more wild on shapes and colors while still adhering to the rules of how they work (humanoid form, demon form, animalistic, one element each and more or less made to fit that, 4 arms is very common, look to be bost scary and wild but also something that would make you stop in tracks and stare in awe and fear if you crossed paths)
often times designs just kinda .. happen, i have maybe the idea ok i wanna make something with a white and red pattern also moose or those big horned cows are cool and kinda scary so maybe sth akin to that (though this one is technically a redesign too- its also pretty much entirely different)
for non demons but still non human i go for a much more restrained design, mainly inspired directly by an animal and giving the color scheme a good spin, plus adding unconventional body shapes, like ki'ita is also a good example, her old idea was just orca anthro pirate and just by making the white green instead in her most recent redesign already adds that little spin to it
that can have its pitfalls though, as i often fall into the big arm small head small legs scheme over and over xD
alot of it is trial and error, deciding on the colors can take me hours bc im always searching for my little rule of having one contrast color that shows up in very few places to draw attention to it (like with Eadrya its those bright yellow eyes and thingy at their tail)
and that is all about myy own ocs, when its fandom stuff it works kinda similar though, either in the connections i wanna draw or just thinking it further- like how deities in destiny work also just kinda .. happened like an ever derailing train
like for demise i was at first really just im gonna give him horns bc horns are cool and he got those on the starting mural in the game- so how his hair work? well maybe it isnt hair actually and just unbound energy, im making him a deity too and fit hylias design to his so, yeah, then so how does it work, ok he gotta have a skeleton still, but what if his entire actual body is made up of pure magical energy with its core in the ribcage? with the core in the ribcage >:3c
and the scales you see are just like cooled down lava as an armor bc his thing is fire and earth !! the normal blood? is a thin layer of skin imiated from mortals to keep the scales together and flexible so if he ACTUALLY gets hurt hed bleed magic that looks more like lava and any normal blood you see is just the armor- so why does he have a skeleton still instead of being just energy? maybe its gotta be bound to something OH and what if all of the deities started as mortals like a mirror to the trio later on and the gods cannot have direct influence to the worlds so they needed a right hand that is neither god nor mortal but both by killing a mortal by whatever their element will be (demise burned, hylia drowned etc) and their skeleton and spirit is kept but put into a body of magic- OH what if their spirit core is like almost piloting their bodies like a mech in a way bc if youd look close youd see that every strand of magic is actual a hand of their spirit so it makes it more weird and other bc hed be able to reach out with thousands of burning claws of all shapes and sizes like the beheaded forest god at the end of mononoke- SO if hed lose and arm or something all those strands would untangle and rearrange his bones back together-OH MY GOD the whole armor idea works so well for ghirahims dark armor so what if demise had two swords once and lost one and since has forged an armor similar to his own for ghirahim out fo fear of losing him t---
and that all is a process that happens over several weeks and months not rarely while i am drawing something mindlessly and suddendly *have a thought* and omg that makes so much sense-
so "what" inspires my designs? an ever derailing train of thought about making cool thick monsters that arent the evil thing to get rid of for once? cool color schemes? idk it just kinda happens??
#ganondoodles answers#dont think this was the point of the ask#maybe i shouldnt actually try to answer any questions bc im inherently bad at ... having an answer#i havent even gotten into the anatomy of demons in my oc stuff#yes they ... they got organs#i dont know why id need to think about how and what and their arrangmeent#but i ssure did#I DIDNT EVEN GET INTO HOW DEMONS WORK-#wasnt the ask#my brain is an unstoppable train that never lets me rest#writing soem stuff out like that really makes me realize just how MUCH THERE IS#no wonder i got not space left for any actually important information#like i couldnt tell you my phone number i have had for years but i sure could draw an anatomical study of a demon oc lol#this took me an hour to write.#why am i like this
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Penciled Lines
(Cross-posted on ao3, if you prefer to read it there. Reblogs still appreciated!)
Missa wakes up, and he thinks he might be doomed. This doesn’t scare him nearly as much as it should.
Missa is awake early—by his own metric, anyway. His nocturnal nature causes “early” for him to mean “early night” and not “early morning.” Regardless, “early” means that Philza is not asleep yet, still going through his nightly rituals. “Early” means that Philza is sitting up in (his? their?) the bed, pillows propped up behind him, notebook in his lap, sketching away.
And when Missa wakes up to the soft scritch-scratch of a charcoal pencil on textured paper, his forehead just so happens to be brushing Philza’s hip.
Missa can hardly breathe.
Oh no.
He knows that if he gives any indication that he is awake, Philza will stop sketching, close his notebook, shift himself over until he is politely seated on his side of the bed, and greet Missa with a friendly smile. Philza has done it before, when Missa wakes up early. That’s how Missa knows he’ll do it again.
Thus, Missa can hardly breathe—his breaths have to be the slow in-out of sleep. He can’t so much as twitch, either. He has to keep quiet and play dead or else he’ll be found out. Seen. Caught living the lie.
“Husband,” Philza calls him. They’re not married. They share a bed. They’re hardly ever in it at the same time. They have a son and a daughter. Neither of them know Missa very well. Philza has had an extra set of armor and a skull on his backpack for months, waiting for Missa. Missa doesn’t even know Philza’s last name.
Philza is a good man and a good friend—and Missa doesn't deserve him. Still, he takes what he can get. Curls around it. Hoarding every innocent kindness Philza extends like a starving creature: the generosity of a backpack fully stocked with equipment; the trust Philza places in Missa to watch the kids when he’s asleep; and now, the courtesy of not moving his hip from Missa’s forehead to ensure his “sleeping” isn’t disturbed. Missa clutches all of these little offerings in his greedy claws and hugs them into his chest, even as the guilt eats away at him.
Because, regardless of the lack of mutual feeling, he loves Philza. He loves him so, so much, and that is why he is doomed. He can’t afford to lose what little he has. He can’t cross that line.
So Missa lies beside Philza, forehead pressed against Philza’s hip, pretending to sleep so he can imagine that they’re not just lying in bed together, but lying in bed, together; and later, when Missa truly wakes, he will sit on his side of the bed and look at Philza’s face soft with sleep and think about how lucky he is that he still has a side-of-the-bed to begin with.
Missa doesn’t mean to drift off. When it starts to happen, he’s hopelessly torn between shaking himself awake and thus giving himself away, or remaining how he is, silently fending off the inevitable. In the end, Missa clings to that scritch-scratch sound of Philza’s pencil on the paper for as long as he can before the fog at last pulls him under.
Eventually, he dreams. In fact, he dreams of the calloused fingers he dreams of every night, hands like his own, an artist of Death, cradling and shading the contours of his face—a softness dashing charcoal across his jaw, and over his cheekbones, and perhaps on his lips, too, if he’s lucky. Defining every edge of him.
~*~
A deep sigh. Phil stops sketching as Missa shifts in his sleep. He tilts his head up so that the tip of his nose is now just nearly brushing against Phil’s hip. The motion disturbs the wild splay of his dark hair, revealing more of his face: eyelashes, cheeks, warmth. Tender blush of something Stygian and otherworldly. New.
Phil’s lips tilt upwards. He turns to a fresh page, and he starts again.
#qsmp#pissa#qsmpshipping#qsmp missa#qsmp philza#i hesitate to put main character tags bc it's shipping content but i think we're all p much okay with that?? we chill??? we chill thumbsup#my fics#ficlet#anyway would you believe me if i told you this took me a week to write. hhourgh.#i'll prolly make small edits as time goes by if i dont scrap this version entirely.#i really like it rn but we'll see how i feel abt it in like a couple hours or a day. the sheer number of times ive rewritten this hhhhh.#this little character/relationship study is primarily for me to try to work them out in my head.#so if this doesnt quite hit the exact vibe you know why.#im still getting acquainted w missa's character but i gotta start somewhere ya know#i didnt actually get to explore missa's feelings of inferiority as much as i wanted to but thats bc i found trying to tackle that As Well-#-as everything else saddled the fic/setting w too many Things and made it cumbersome and muddied the story being told.#so another time perhaps.#anyway i adore them. beloveds.
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might be swinging a bat at a hornets’ nest here but how are some people out here getting real life angry at fictional characters and then sticking around to hate on them. it takes like 2 mildly upsetting writing decisions max to make me abandon media entirely where are you guys getting the tenacity
#one thing about me is i will just walk out i’m already leaving i never took my hand off the doorknob actually#i am simply gone i am hitting da bricks#like yes i ‘hate’ endeavor bnha but like in the sense that he’s the reason i stopped watching the show#literally the second i caught wind of a possible endeavor redemption arc my emotional investment in the whole story just evaporated#i mean i guess i understand getting upset at like. writing choices that makes sense i do that sometimes#but genuine personal animosity toward specific characters is just baffling to me#mumbling
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I find it strange that a lot of people are coming forward and saying that the staged finale was a bad play for one reason or another but it really isn’t and I don’t understand where the hate is coming from.
yeah i've seen some of this the last few days--staged finale has always been somewhat "controversial" in the lorehead scene, so a measure of disagreement/discourse about it makes sense. especially bc it was honestly a very big change to what people thought was the story and required people to go back and reevaluate a lot, which. people are naturally resistant at doing
but while obviously i think that some healthy discussion about these things is good, and i feel like i have seen a level of...misunderstanding? about it?? which has gone into the ways that people disagree
staged finale refers to the decision to stage the finale. that's it. staged finale just asserts that based on preexisting foreshadowing and based on the sheer level of suspension of disbelief in order for genuine finale to be real, it made more sense for the finale to be staged than for it to have been genuine. how the finale was planned, when the finale was planned, and to what ends it was planned are all things that you can disagree on w/ other staged finale believers/supporters while still being a staged finale believer/supporter, ykwim? if you believe that c!punz faked his betrayal to c!dream, then congrats! you believe in staged finale. oftentimes i see people say things like "i don't believe in staged finale, i think that c!dream faked the betrayal and all and always had c!punz on his side but i think that the reason behind why he did it is [X]" and it's like. staging the finale is one (1) event, not a comprehensive explanation for everything c!Dream does. that would be more in line with something like the "strategist dream interpretation," which in itself does have different readings as well.
people have listed all of the inconsistencies in the staged finale before, but just to summarize--the guy literally could've dipped when everyone came to "defeat" him, c!tommy leveraging his own life is basically no leverage at all when the mans has the revive book, skeppy cage is a joke, c!dream revealing all of his plans when they were maybe 10% carried out (the entire damn attachment vault was empty of items besides stuff that was literally faked, his own damn stuff, and stuff that he stole recently from c!tommy such as the Axe of Peace and the discs) is ridiculously stupid, why the hell does he have blackmail against c!punz included in a bunker that c!punz clearly had access to???? the list goes on.
(as someone who took awhile to be fully convinced in staged finale, what really tripped me up was the stream punz did the day before: here's a post breaking it down that definitely helped me to see it in a different light.)
as far as foreshadowing goes, just off the top of my head: the original prisoner is a constant question from the day of the prison's creation, being something that's even highlighted on the day of the staged finale itself. c!Dream saying he has "the biggest house on the server" and how it's full of redstone. the entire conversation he has with c!punz, obviously. his holding back on the favor with c!techno, the connection between the revive book and the prison that he establishes the day they begin prison construction.
from a logical perspective, the plan as c!Dream establishes it doesn't make any damn sense. c!dream had opportunities to escape that he didn't take for illogical reasons (if the only reason why he allowed himself to stay in a fucking possible kill chamber was to keep c!tommy from committing suicide, then? what about the revive book? what about the fact that he literally kills c!tommy just a few months later????) -- a level of plot contrivance is expected in the medium, but for a lot of people this was just. Going way too far. Unless he literally lost his whole mind (which, to be fair, was the persona being played) there's just. really no other way to make sense of what was going on there, if it was all genuine.
the other argument is a narrative one--people claim that the story established by a genuine finale is cleaner than the story of the staged one, and honestly. it's like. like that's...a feature, not a flaw? the reason why the genuine finale worked isn't because it was logically believable. dream is Dream Manhunt. he's famously hard to nail down, famously good at escaping sticky situations, famously a man that can outsmart his way out of crazy disadvantageous situations--like. just in terms of minecraft skill, i'd wager that most people would think that dream would've technically been able to pull off an escape even when facing down the collection of enemies that were there. like he had 2 stacks of pearls.
narratively, though, the staged finale has a story that's quite appealing on the surface. the "story" of the events from the spirit speech onwards is one that revolved around the idea of "attachment." c!Dream rejects attachment in favor of control in the spirit speech when he says he refuses to let his love for his dead pet control him anymore, and he focuses on the ability to use the discs to control c!Tommy. the fact that c!Dream's relationships deteriorate at this time seems to support this point, and c!Tommy's strength in his relationships being what saves him and damns c!Dream ties everything off into a neat bow. c!Tommy wins because he has friends and c!Dream loses because he doesn't, moral of the story established, hip-hip-hooray. And so it goes.
but when we look at this more in specifics...? it does start falling apart a bit, doesn't it?
although c!Dream supposedly begins his rampage over his existing emotional connections with the spirit speech, his reputation had been in shambles long before that point. c!Dream-as-villain is first established as part of the greater story in the lmanburg revolution, and that's a title that he never really sheds (this point being emphasized in inconsolable differences and the book c!Wilbur has c!Dream write.) Dethronement happens within a day of Spirit Speech, iirc, and on that day c!Quackity specifically points out that c!Dream has no one on his side but c!Punz. the moments where he is more specifically isolated go back to events such as november 16th, where his alliance with c!Wilbur involved blowing up L'manburg, his deal for the revive book, which involved his publicly betraying Pogtopia, or his opposing Manberg to the literal Manberg cabinet. etc. all of these events in the Manberg/Pogtopia era had c!Dream's loyalties erode to end up as just c!Wilbur and later c!Schlatt for the book, two dead men. (and i say eroded loyalties as if pogtopia really believed dream was on their side, like, ever? like he was never trusted in their ranks, even by c!Tommy, who was definitely the person he worked the closest with outside of c!Wilbur.)
if we look at Dethronement itself, it doesn't actually fit the pattern of "c!Dream cuts off his attachment to people in order to make himself uncontrollable" -- in fact, what it does fit the pattern of is. Staged finale? Faking an end in a relationship with people that he does consider important to him, making a public appearance of betrayal + anger to mask an existing connection, drawing attention to their being enemies to hide the fact that they're actually friends--that's not c!Dream cutting anyone off. That's just the exact same ploy that he uses to make people think that c!Punz betrays him (only c!Sapnap and c!George ended up deciding that Nah We're Gonna Kill You Now. Fuck You It's Coup Time. so that's how that ended up.)
Otherwise there's...the Badlands, who were perfectly happy to agree to joining the coup on the day of dethronement if it got them more power and land. c!Techno, who c!Dream wasn't an ally of until later on with the favor established and then doomsday, and who was someone c!Dream was quite openly wary of + afraid of due to his combat skill. c!Dream was alone literally before exile even happened, his remaining "attachments" of c!George and c!Sapnap turning against him like the day he goes on a whole spiel about ohhoho from today onwards i DONT GIVE A SHIT ABOUT MY ATTACHMENTS !!! I ONLY CARE ABOUT THE DISCS !!! like congrats you don't even have a chance to cut off any attachment at all dingus they all hate you and want you dead already.
further, with c!punz, he literally says that they're more than just employer/employee in the infamous conversation they have about planning a betrayal. if the whole point of the story is "attachment good," then why is it that what takes down c!dream is...his one remaining attachment? if his fatal flaw is that he didn't trust people enough, why is it that he loses because he trusted someone too much? it's not like c!tommy had any attachment to c!punz--c!punz explicitly "has a reason" to betray c!dream because of money. he helps c!tommy because dream "should have paid [him] more." none of that reflects that spirit of "attachment" that people claim was c!dream's downfall.
(not to mention how the people present in the staged finale to take c!dream down included people who literally hated c!tommy's guts. like. what brought them together wasn't the power of friendship, it was the power of we hate this green bastard.)
this isn't to say that c!Dream didn't have some relationships that go up in flames because he starts acting particularly cackling evil villain (with the green festival being the specific moment where he really goes full in with that persona, going from someone that was framing himself as having a Reasonable Complaint to literally the joker as soon as he gets the disc from c!Tubbo. It's purposefully played as a "mask off" moment that is meant to make him look like a crazy fucking villain in front of a large audience--whether or not you think that was a choice that he made in character or not, the way his personality changes as soon as he receives the disc is jarring.) In particular, his relationships with c!Puffy and c!Sam come to mind--c!Puffy burns the house she made him when she decides that he's too evil (but, uh, c!dream really wasn't even there for that and didn't ever have a particularly close relationship with her) and c!Sam is among those whose opinions of c!Dream become drastically more negative around the period of time that spans green festival->doomsday->staged finale. but it's important to note that c!Dream's relationships on the server aren't...great, at the time of spirit speech. They're uh, really fucking bad, actually. dethronement only makes them even worse, and all of this happens pre-exile. c!Dream had significant reason to be paranoid and afraid for his life long before exile happens, which is Quite Significant, Actually, when you consider that that paranoia is literally what goes into his decisions to carry out the staged finale + put himself in the prison (which isn't the case for genuine finale, where he's more motivated by a desire to control the server without being controlled himself.) staged finale does solidify c!dream-as-villain for a lot of people, but it never would've worked if people didn't already see him as a villain in the first place. c!Dream doesn't make people hate him with the staged finale; he uses hatred that he already knows exists to put himself in what he sees as a safer position.
and look we could go into a whole discussion about manberg/pogtopia c!Dream (which i do think is way overdue to be fair considering that that's where the paranoia + isolation that motivates him post-november 16th comes from in the first place) but this post is long enough already and i still have to figure out a better way to articulate my thoughts on the matter. anyway. carrying on:
people still have different feelings on why he carries out staged finale in the first place, but what we do know for sure is that it was meant to protect punz and protect the revive book. by firmly establishing that c!punz and him were on opposite sides, he keeps the revive book safe and both of their lives safe by extension: as long as no one would kill both of them at the same time, they had a means of reviving the other if need be and obviously had the information on how to raise people from the dead secure. which was important to them. and otherwise...c!Dream is paranoid. c!Dream is very, very paranoid, and this paranoia goes back at the very least to when he learns about the revive book. the prison, for all the dependence that it required of him, was tailor made (and the construction process controlled by dream every damn step of the way) to make sure that whoever was in the main cell would be safe from external threats. the security of the prison and the prisoner was the POINT. i've seen some assertions that staged finale implies that he predicted everything that happened after he was put in prison and...no? i'd say that c!dream's behavior indicates him being thrown off by c!sam as early as bad's prison visit, c!sapnap's prison visit for sure. c!Ranboo being banned from visitation pretty damn obviously fucks him up, tbh. he has c!punz explicitly out there to keep an eye out on the server while he's in the prison, where he was meant to remain for a period of time that was supposed to be much shorter than how long he ends up being there. likely because, you know, he was supposed to have a consistent and reliable source of information with the outside world in the form of c!Ranboo, and c!sam wasn't supposed to fall off the fucking rails as soon as the prison started. people have also talked about how having the staged finale be true means that c!dream doesn't lose, which...i mean. gestures at the prison arc? that whole thing is a loss so catastrophic it literally destroys him. he's never the same after the prison happens. the false betrayal of c!punz is deliberately like ironically described to c!sam, who was the REAL betrayal that fucking. ruins him. he loses SO MUCH over the course of the prison, which was something he literally designed to keep himself safe from external threat. as far as losses go, i definitely find that a lot more compelling and a lot less contrived than watching c!dream go "whoop de doo guess i have to die now" when he's like 3 pearls away from making a clean escape in the disc vault, tbh.
at the end of the day, i think having some conversation about staged finale is fun! and it's always good to reexamine what you believe to make sure that it still holds water. but i've really not seen much staged finale crit that makes the genuine finale feel favorable as an explanation: logically, it makes a lot less sense. narratively, it relies on a story that the audience wants to be true and acts as a "clean" explanation for everything while not actually taking into account a lot of what was ACTUALLY going on for c!dream (cutting off attachments for the sake of control versus watching people turn against you and becoming increasingly paranoid, for example). and believe them or not, the content creators involved have always asserted that staged finale was the plan from the beginning, not any form of retcon. (and we do know that people have been dodgy about stuff like the "original prisoner" literally since the week that c!dream was imprisoned, so take that as you will.) (okay to be fair theyve been dodgy about the original prisoner since the day that the prison began to be constructed, but the QnA from that first week of imprisonment sticks out to me in particular because cc!Sam had the biggest fucking smile on his face and staged finale would've been planned out and then carried out in entirety by the ccs and the c!s by that point.)
this is a longass post but uh hopefully it makes sense, lmao. tried to touch on most of what i've seen recently 😅
#my asks !!#long post#c!dreamisms#also like. im making this post from the perspective of someone who always saw staged finale as really cool#but really wasn't 100% convinced until like ehhh halfway through the prison arc roughly?#like im not claiming any credit as a believer from the beginning it took me awhile#so like. i get it.#i think for me a lot of it was also just a lack of faith in the ccs' planning and writing and feeling that narrative contrivance#could be explained through the ccs being less experienced writers + the sheer level of what they were carrying out#but you know. staged finale canon now and im not gonna sit here and pretend that im the smartest person in the room#when these guys definitely overachieved in terms of what i was expecting them to pull off#by making a plot twist that was THIS BIG and conning the whole damn fandom and server in one#like nah they deserve their W actually lmao
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Me planning out an Anidala fic: am I making them move too fast?
Also me, remembering they canonically got married after five days of awful flirting in canon: no, I think we’re good
Pls don’t check my math on this btw, I am lazy and will not research SW timelines. We are here for vibes not facts)
#also before anyone goes ‘oh you’re writing an Anidala fic? can’t wait to read it!’ you misunderstand;;;#I am ‘writing’#look it took me 8 month to finish a 900 words fic and I actually had the plot planned out and mostly written#pls don’t expect anything from me lmao#star wars#anidala#vaderdala#anakin skywalker#padme amidala#burntblueberrywaffles
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"Bran is practically my brother's cat" - is what i would like to think
#astral chain#astralchain#akira howard#platinum games#cat#fanart#i didn't write it on the tag back then#but what i was thinking when i made that past piece was him reflecting how it would be if he lost both her father and sister#he would truly be alone so on his free time he just spent time sitting beside that window mindlessly while thinking what could have been#like his sister could have knocked the door and come in any moment now#his father would came in with warm take outs for them to eat there#but then i just read recently that the sister he has in the end was one of the clone with memories planted by dr. brenda#and then suddenly i am sad again :'^\#i thought it was just one of her magically left out & appeared somewhere & have the noah memory fragments lost#but now i thought of it as when akira was heading back he found one of the pod was still unopened#and so they took her in#it makes much more sense but then it makes me think of how much a fake replacement she is now#i wonder if it's kinda painful for him to look at her now#knowing the original one who went through all that things with him is truly gone#and this one just starts things with him without actually did all those things with him before#just by getting some memories handed to her#me: i wish there are more astral chain fanarts#astral chain: *being the game that has characters with difficult attributes & legions to draw*#i find guys with this kind of haircut is cute#♡
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caskets and lilies
The sun above burnt fiery gold, yet here you are drenched in the sobering melancholy that is wrapped around you like a cloak of death. It never seems to leave you, hangs around you like an old friend— you smile as you lie, the wretched agony peering through your eyes, that are always so vividly green. They tell you, your eyes are just like your mother's and you burn — for, you are not her but they do not see that; they see the caskets that they have buried, they see the ghosts of the pasts that are now just memories but never you. No one ever sees you.
Love is a wretched thing and you have always craved it, like a starved fool; you hungered for it. You remember being seven, you remember crying and you remember the hate that burned in your aunt's eyes as she looked at you, and thought of Lily. Yet, you still searched for it in your aunt's eyes, again and again— because you were only seven and you yearned for that brimming tenderness, that warm love that Dudley always got but never you.
Cruelty can be borne out of love and you see that in Snape; Professor Snape who loved a Lily but hated a Potter. Who sees you, and sees your father and despises you for it. He sees you and sees Lily dead dead, and loathes you for it. And isn't that funny? They all see you but all they see is the saviour, not the boy — they see the boy who lived and not the boy who lost his parents the same night he survived. They all see you but only see what they want to see.
Perhaps, that is why you see him. That is why your forest green search for those blood soaked rubies. A monster, they call him — yet, your heart calls for him. For, what is a monster— if not a human who once was. As you stand before him, he smiles at you; It is a cruel thing, a mockery and for a second you think of run, you think not Harry and you wonder for a second; when they take you away will your casket be surrounded by lilies, would they crow how brave the child was, just like his father.
Perhaps, that is why you fall in the arms of a monster who was once was a man (and once a boy like you, craving and never receiving). You fall into the arms of your foretold enemy who is supposed to destroy the world and you. For once you choose to let go, and as you let yourself be consumed, you wonder; how funny your life is. How, it is this monster, who is your foretold doom — ends up being the only one who sees you for you. Who looks at you and abhors you — not for your father's sin or for who your mother was. He looks at you and sees Harry. And somehow that is what breaks you.
#this has been sitting in my draft for a long time lmao#i just wanted it out#it's not edited at all guys#all i ever wanted was to write about a tomarry were harry just crumbles under the expectations#and the uncalled hatred for what his parents did/who they were that he ends up suffering for#its just me playing with#how inadequate harry felt for being loved/hated not bc of who he was but bc of the preconceived notions the others had about him#this is just a gery ugly writing of my messy thoughts and whoever actually took the time to read it i love u#tomarry#harrymort#harry potter#tom riddle#voldemort#sometimes all you need is an enemy who hates you because you're you and not because of some preconceived notions or whatever lmao
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Have you seen the formline art in splatoon? It's present in a variety of salmon run decals and on some of the locker graffiti. Idk if the Devs just googled "salmon art" and got indigenous art and decided to copy it or what. Not sure how I feel about it personally.
Long post incoming, gonna put a break here. Also sorry for the late response, I wanted to take a couple days to formalize my thoughts together before responding fully.
I have, I remember noticing in 2018-2019 (when i first started playing splatoon 2) how much one of the decals/graffiti located on the ruins of ark polaris back in 2 sort of resembled a formline bear and salmon. (near the logo in this screenshot, I couldn't find a clear picture online)
Back in 2019, it was pretty easy to think of it as coincidence or a stretch for a comparison. But with splatoon 3's salmon run decals, the resemblance is far easier to see, specifically with the TS-ORBRS graffiti and the TS-SCHL graffiti.
(also this was the best image size I could find for the graffiti images, sorry)
A couple of the banners have the designs on them as well:
The website Sealaska Heritage has info such as textbooks and an online doc about formline art (specifically geared towards Haida, Tlingit, and Tsimshian nations' style) with lots of info about formline art, and the Seattle Art Museum website has an info sheet (with credits listed as being from the Sealaska Heritage site as well) breaking down some of the basic shapes of formline art.
with this chart, you can definitely begin to notice the similarities between the Salmon Run graffiti and formline art. the ovoids, crescents, and u-shapes appear noticeably in some of the graffiti such as ORBRS and SCHL.
For perspective, here are some formline pieces featuring salmon or fish from various Indigenous artists from various nations.
"sk’ug sdang" (Two Dog Salmon) by Robert Davidson (Haida)
"metal medallion", by Crystal Kaakeeyáa Rose Demientieff Worl (Tlingit Athabascan)
"Salmon People" by Alano Edzerza (Tahltan)
"Jumping Chum" by Stephanie Anderson (Wet'suwet'en)
"Salmon" by Art Thompson (Nuu-chah-nulth)
And that's literally just the surface of dozens of Indigenous artists from the PNW.
With these pieces, you can begin to see the resemblance that the graffiti designs have. A lot of the heads follow the pattern of utilizing ovoids for both the head and eyes, and u-shapes for the bodies and crescents to fill in specific areas are also common. For example, TS-SCHL has a small school of fish where the bodies are entire ovoids.
However, there are a couple flaws in the graffiti designs too. With a few of the designs, you can see they utilize the u-shape (see the formline shape breakdown from Sealaska again) in designs like TS-WHP and TS-SMFR. I can't speak for every Indigenous formline artist ever, but from how I've been taught to design formline art from my family, the u-shape should connect to the rest of the form instead of free-floating. I drew a quick example here:
you can see similar mistakes with a different kind of u-shape with TS-RLPL and TS-C0HK.
Another very specific mistake that takes a bit of squinting to make out is that ovoids are sort of top-heavy, for lack of a term I can't think of right now. The line or the area should be thicker on the top then the bottom. This mistake is frequent in the graffiti designs utilizing ovoid or ovoid adjacent face or body shapes, like TS-ORBRS, TS-C0HK or TS-SCHL.
Full disclaimer, I am not an expert at formline art. I've been practicing it under the tutelage of my aunt and father for about 3 or so years now, and there are definitely cultural variations that come into play as well. My culture's formline art style can look completely different from someone who is Haida or otherwise. This critique of the graffiti designs is based off my knowledge and skill at formline art, as well as critique and feedback that I've gotten from family. Formline art isn't just something you look at and replicate, there is a specific process of utilizing the shapes and negative space that you need to account for too. Some shapes have their own rules for how they're used as well.
Despite the beginner mistakes, the clear resemblances are pretty definitive proof that a good section of the sticker/graffiti designs for the salmonids are meant to be, or at the very least based off of or inspired by, formline art.
Splatoon's lore has a lot of elements of taking inspiration from real life culture (which is sort of one of the main elements of the story, the squids and octos are basing their society off long dead humans). Hell, Shiver and Frye are two prime examples of Splatoon working in real world culture into their setting and characters.
With that in mind, using an art style that's exclusive to an ethnicity of people as inspiration or baseline reference for the game mode that's all about taking natural resources from a species that in-game dialogue tends to treat as dangerous and lesser-minded is... not a good choice. Especially an ethnicity that has historically been ravaged and attacked by settlers for natural resources.
Now, technically if you do digging into lore for salmon run, you can find out that the salmonid are not as simple-minded as the dialogue in-game (I am staring directly at the deep cut big run announcement dialogue we've gotten so far -_-) makes them out to be. The salmonids do trades and commerce with the octarians for equipment and gear. That's why they have such technically high tech gear, like the scrappers with their shields that actually resemble octarian shields and the flyfish with their missiles and flying aircraft. That's also why power eggs show up in the story mode; they're from the salmonids' trades with the octarians.
So the salmonid could technically be as just as smart as the inklings, which is why the dialogue and some of the portrayals of the salmonid are confusing and contradictory (shiver's dialogue from the first big run, that one promo picture of an inkling walking a smallfry on a leash????). I think a good bit of the fanbase sort of thinks of the little buddy we get during the game as a pet, and I'm sure that much more of the fanbase/playerbase doesn't really care about the lore whatsoever. Salmonids sort of have a similar vibe to me as hilichurls from Genshin Impact, where the lore tells you that they're smarter than people assume while NPCs talk of them as less intelligent monsters. And you're also caught in this paradox where killing/fighting them feels morally wrong but the gameplay loop has you continuously doing that while also telling you on the downlow that you should sort of feel bad about it.
Rassicas did a really good video on translating salmonid lore from various interviews, which is where I learned a lot about the salmonid lore that doesn't really get explained/brought up in the game.
The usage of formline art in Splatoon has me sort of mixed on my opinion, because besides using an Indigenous art style for an enemy species that are considered lesser in intelligence by the NPCs, Indigenous art and culture as a whole has suffered a lot under colonialism. I don't know how much awareness whoever is reading this has about Indigenous history and colonialism, but Indigenous culture as a whole was banned in North America by the respective governments from being practiced by the respective cultural groups. Things such as ceremonies, regalia, and even practicing formline art were banned from being used by Indigenous people. Non-Indigenous people however were free to use it, which is why a lot of bastardized versions of Indigenous regalia and culture exists. You can see it in non-indigenous spiritual practices utilizing Indigenous practices and terminology like spirit animals and dreamcatchers, and sports teams utilizing Indigenous culture in its labelling and mascots. That is where cultural appropriation comes into play. And before I get anybody commenting about this, the salmonid formlines don't count as "cultural appreciation" because as far as the info available is concerned, there wasn't any Indigenous people that were consulted for the designs. And even if there were, I again have mixed feelings about Splatoon utilizing an Indigenous art style as a design piece for an enemy character in the franchise.
On another note, this isn't the first time Indigenous cultural appropriation has popped up in the Splatoon franchise. There was actually a headgear that was unreleased in the first Splatoon game called "Warrior Headdress", and you can guess what it looked like.
Yeah. That was all levels of yikes and I'm thankful as hell that it didn't make it into the game (technically it's not in the game as a wearable item, but you can spot it at the very back of the headgear shop ingame)
So Splatoon has utilized Indigenous culture as inspiration beforehand with the games, so it's not much of a stretch anymore to think that the salmon run graffiti designs were based off formline art or was an attempt at formline art.
I'm not really sold on the idea that the salmonid are meant to be representative of Indigenous people though, nor do I believe that utilizing formline art for the salmonid was a malicious decision. But it was a slightly ignorant decision at best, because again using Indigenous specific art for a species of enemies that gets fought for their natural resources and is referred to by some of the NPCs as basically being lesser-minded animals is really not a good decision.
This whole thread is not meant as a guilt trip for anyone who likes the salmonid lore, has bought any of the salmonid graffiti stickers, or enjoys salmon run, nor is it an accusation of the devs for maliciously misusing Indigenous culture. I actually really enjoy salmon run for it's PSP and concept, but this design aspect gives me mixed feelings as an Indigenous person. And to be honest it's hard to label intentions or the thought process because there isn't any info available on the development of salmon run and those graffiti designs specifically. So it's hard to know if the devs employed an Indigenous artist for feedback or if they indeed just looked at some formline art of salmon and tried to replicate it or used it as inspiration. I'm inclined to believe the latter judging by the beginner formline mistakes seen in some of the designs. There is an art book coming out soon for Splatoon 3, so maybe that will give more info.
To wrap this all up, I don't think there is really anything to be done about the designs. The game has been out for a while and I don't know if the game would change the designs at this point. I also don't think this should stop people from buying the sticker designs in game or playing salmon run. However, it is important to learn about the context of these designs so that you know why they exist and why they can be harmful, and so devs and creators can avoid making the same mistake in the future, and so Indigenous issues with cultural appropriation can be made more aware in the public space and not be ridiculed by non-Indigenous people. And again, I am just one Indigenous person so there may be other opinions from other Indigenous people on the graffiti designs and how they should be handled or viewed.
If you made it this far, thanks for reading and have a good day!! Be sure to check out some actual Formline art made by Indigenous people, like the ones I listed near the top of the post!
#long post#salmon run#indigenous discussion#cw cultural appropriation#whoof that took a while to write#I really don't think this whole situation is one of maliciousness#but one of ignorance.#the devs had the foresight to (almost completely) remove the headdress item from the first game#so good on them for that#I just sort of wish they'd thought through using Indigenous art for the salmonids a lot better.#I wish the salmonids had a different sticker design entirely tbh#graffiti is such an open-ended style concept so they could've found lots of inspiration there#instead of using an Indigenous specific art style#(and making beginner mistakes while doing it)#also if you're here to cry cultural appreciation or about how “oh this is preserving Indigenous culture actually” I'm gonna need you#to walk back out that door.#I did not spend four hours writing this whole post to deal with “but cultural appreciation actually!!!” chuds.#Look up the definition of cultural appreciation vs cultural appropriation and get back to me.
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